Rat Race: The 79th Hunger Games
by catscoolusername
Summary: "Remember this - even if you win, you are still a rat." Five years after the thrilling games that put a swift end to the story of the star-crossed lovers, it seemed as though Panem's waters had stilled. But the games have been especially brutal these past couple of years, and with the seeds of rebellion long since sown, who knows when things might boil over? SYOT (CLOSED)
1. PROLOGUE

**PROLOGUE**

"_Television is a rat race, and remember this - even if you win you, are still a rat." - Jackie Gleason_

Three, two, one.

_Action._

Out on the stage, the entrance theme plays and the audience cheers. Standing in the wings, waiting for her signal to go on, Kit is starting to get a fucking headache.

She hears the host talking into the microphone, but it's muffled from where she's standing. He's riling up the crowd, hyping himself up - he's new to the job, his head is still stuck far enough up his own ass that he thinks any of this is _about_ him. Master of Ceremonies is a tough position to come into, and the newly retired Caesar Flickerman's shoes are a hard pair to fill, but despite his ego, Ambrose is doing a half decent job. Or at least, that's what Kit _might _think if she didn't hate the guy's guts on principle.

Her stylist, Isadora, places a hand on her shoulder. She flinches out of the touch and shoots the older woman a glare, which she backs away from.

"I'm just-"

"My makeup is fine," Kit snaps. "How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?"

"Kit," Darian says. "Chill out."

Kit sighs, slumping her shoulders and muttering an apology in Isadora's direction as she slinks away, indignant. Darian gives her a brief look of warning before his expression softens, and he doesn't need to say anything else, but Kit knows what he's thinking. He gets it. That's all she needs.

"You gonna be okay out there?" He asks.

"Do I have a choice?"

He doesn't get a chance to reply. Ambrose is still talking, raising his voice as the stagehands approach and motion for Kit to come closer to the stage. "-our most recent victor, from District Eight, Kit Damask!"

The crowd erupts in cheers once again, and Kit forces a smile as she walks out onto the stage. She struggles not to squint against the bright lights which only exacerbate the growing pain in her head, a sting behind her eyes that's slowly spreading all the way around. Ambrose extends a hand to her and she puts hers out to meet him, which he grasps tightly and lowers his head to kiss. His lipstick leaves a golden imprint on the back of her hand.

"It's lovely to finally meet you, my dear," Ambrose begins, taking his seat. A lie. They met earlier that day when they went over the contents of the interview, each making sure that they were saying the right things.

Kit, of course, lies right back. "And you as well, Mister Valour."

"Oh, _Mister Valour!_" He chuckles. "No need to be so formal, Kitten, you make me feel old."

Kit's eye twitches at the use of the nickname. They hadn't discussed that. If they had, she would have shot it down immediately. "As you wish, Ambrose."

"So, tell me. How have things back at home? Your family is doing well, your brother?" Small talk, like they're old friends catching up. That's what this is to them, the _Capitol_. Catching up with their old friend Kit. She just keeps smiling. She knows what she has to say, and she knows what she wants to say.

"They're good." _It's not the same. I'm not the same. We don't know how to talk to each other anymore. They're afraid of me. _"Victor's Village is a lovely place, it's everything we've ever wanted. I'm glad that I can finally provide for my mother after all the years she spent providing for me."

"So sweet," Ambrose coos. "So sweet. And what have you been up to since your return home, still working on your designs?"

_No. I haven't touched my sketchbook in months._ "Naturally. I've been working with my stylist, Isadora, trying to perfect them. Who knows? They might be making it to the Capitol someday soon.

"I'll be keeping my eyes open," he promises.

Kit wracks her brain, tries to remember what the next line is. There's a pause, she hopes it isn't awkward. "Maybe I'll make something special, just for you."

Ambrose widens his eyes, which already look unnaturally wide. He's got contacts in that gradually change the color, and she watches as it shifts from purple to pink. "Just for me? I'm honored!"

"Yes, just for you. Something worthy of your colorful personality," Kit says with a laugh, and the audience follows suit. It bothers her, for some reason, more than anything else has. _It wasn't even fucking funny. _Her eye twitches again.

The audience settles as Ambrose begins speaking again. "Well, it's getting to be that time of year again, ladies and gentlemen. The 79th Hunger Games right around the corner. I know I'm excited, and I know all of you are excited...Kit? Are you looking forward to the show this year?"

_They didn't discuss this either. _Kit nearly loses her smile, blinking in confusion at Ambrose's bright grin as he awaits her answers. Is she looking forward to the show? Is she looking forward to watching twenty-three more children die? What is she supposed to say?

How much more of a monster do these people want to make her out to be?

There's another silence.

"Of course," she manages to choke out, putting all of her effort into matching her host's energy.

The audience erupts into applause again, Ambrose clapping along with them. Kit's head pounds, and her vision starts getting a little fuzzy. She needs this interview to end _now._

After what feels like an eternity, Ambrose begins to speak over the slowly settling crowd. "We're going to take a short break, but don't go anywhere! When we return, we have an exclusive interview with our Head Gamemaker, the genius behind last year's masterpiece, Belladonna Korei!"

The tune plays them out as the stage lights dim and the house lights come on, and Kit practically jumps out of her seat, swaying as she makes her way backstage. Darian is there waiting for her when she arrives, concern already written all over his face.

"Come here," he says, reaching cautiously for her. "Sit down, there's only a little bit more to go, and then we can get you home."

"I don't want to do this anymore," she says, something in her tone verging on hysteria. "I can't-"

A voice behind the two interrupt the conversation, cutting Kit's impending breakdown short.

"Miss Damask," it says. "I don't believe we've met yet."

They turn and find themselves face to face with the Head Gamemaker herself. She matches Darian in height which means she towers over Kit, who gets a chill down her spine as she examines the woman. There's something imposing about the woman that she can't quite describe, from the sharpness of her features to the coldness of her stare. Her sleek white gown is sleeveless, showing off the tattoos covering her arms, and just looking at them makes Kit's head hurt even more. They're like some kind of optical illusion, strange rune-like patterns that she just can't make out.

Belladonna Korei gives her a slight smile. It's just as cold as her eyes. "I never did get a chance to congratulate you, did I? For what a wonderful job you did in my arena last year."

"Thank you, Miss Korei," Kit says. Her voice feels too weak, too shaky.

"You'll be a mentor this year, won't you? Both of you?" She adds, looking at Darian. Kit can only nod. Her smile widens. "How lovely. Wish your tributes the best of luck for me. This year's arena is really going to be something special."

With that, she makes her exit, pushing between the two of them to walk in the direction of the stage. Darian and Kit both watch her leave, saying nothing.

"Fuck," Kit mutters. "I can't keep doing this, Darian."

"You can," he responds. "You have to."

She looks at him, ready to argue, but the words die in her throat as she she's the hollowed look to her mentor's face. He's still looking at the space where Belladonna was with a faraway look in his eyes.

"You get used to it," he whispers.

**It's SYOT time! Yep, after weeks of browsing and submitting to a whole bunch of these, I'm gonna try my hand at writing my own. And I'm really hoping it goes well! **

**Optional Reading About The World Of This Story:**** This world is the same as in canon, with a few big differences based on some minor changes. In this story, Katniss was the sole Victor of the 74th Games, with Peeta sacrificing himself to knock Cato off the Cornucopia. They both fell to their deaths, and Katniss lived. The rebellion never really took off, though there is definitely still unrest, and a lot of people do see Katniss as sort of a figure for things based on what she did for Rue/some controversial statements she made during her tour. Since then, however, she's largely fallen out of the spotlight, and is only ever heard from when mentoring during Games.**

**Shortly after the 74th Games, President Snow passed away, succumbing to his illness. He was replaced by the current president, Cassiel Notus, a young, charming, and generally well-liked man. Seneca Crane served as Head Gamemaker until the 78th Games, when he was replaced by up-and-comer Belladonna Korei. The 78th Games were extremely well-received due to effects of the arena and the surprising displays of brutality by the tributes. **

**Within the past few weeks, Caesar Flickerman retired and was replaced by Ambrose Valour. This happened for no reason other than my reluctance to try writing canon characters, and I'm not going to attempt to hide that from you.**

**And with that...the form! (But first some rules.)**

No relatives of canon characters, or really mentions of canon characters at all if possible. Certain characters will appear, it's unavoidable (Katniss and Haymitch, mostly), but I want to try and keep everything as original as possible.

You can submit three characters, and the third must be offered up as a sacrifice to the bloodbath.

Submissions through PM only, please. I'm a fool and this said review before and for that, I am Big Sorry.

Keep characters realistic and all that, no Mary Sues or whatever.

**NOW the form! Optional sections are marked with a *, anything optional not answered will just be filled in my me when/if the time comes!**

**Name:**

**Age:**

**District:**

**Backup District:**

**Gender:**

**Appearance:**

**Personality: **(As detailed as you can be! This is the most important thing for me to have, include anything you can think of.)

**Backstory: **

**Family/Friends:**

***Thoughts on Games:**

***Thoughts on Rebellion:**

***Reaping Outfit:**

**Reaped or Volunteered?:**

**Reaction to Reaping/Reason for Volunteering:**

***Token:**

**Strengths: **(As many as you want, as long as they're balanced by weaknesses.)

**Weaknesses: **(As many as you want, as long as they're balanced by strengths.)

***Chariot Outfit Idea: **(Can't guarantee I'll use it, but ideas would be nice!)

***Interview Outfit:**

**Interview Strategy:**

**Training Strategy:**

**What They Show Gamemakers:**

**Weapon of Choice:**

**Allies?:**

**Cornucopia Strategy: **

**Arena Strategy:**

***Preferred Death/Placement:**

***Anything Else?:**

**Form will be on my profile as well! I hope you decide to send some characters in, folks! **


	2. PROLOGUE 2 (Electric Boogaloo)

**PROLOGUE (CONT.)**

**ONE YEAR AGO - THE 78th HUNGER GAMES**

It's past Serena's bedtime, but here she is - on her living room sofa with a pillow hugged against her chest, curled up between her parents as they watch the television intently.

The 78th Hunger Games is coming to an end.

Everyone keeps talking about what a thrilling journey it's been, how unique of a year this was. What this could mean for the future, the possibilities that are opening up. The games haven't even ended, and there's already high hopes for next year. There was an interview with the Head Gamemaker a few days ago that she caught the tail end of, and she was teasing that her team was already hard at work. But really, Serena doesn't care much about the mechanics of it all, she doesn't base the quality of the games on how unique they are or anything like that.

What she cares about are the tributes. And her favorite just made it to the final two.

Evie has been teasing Serena about making googly eyes at the boy from District Four since the Reapings first aired, but really, how can anyone blame her? He's like a _dream_ with his wavy, honey-blonde hair and his perfectly tanned skin. He's only sixteen, he's not_ that _much older than her, she keeps insisting - but Mother just laughs and ruffles her hair. She's sponsored him a few times, sent him a canteen full of water and a pair of warm gloves. She saved his _life_ with that one. She's never been prouder.

His name is Lance. Serena thinks she might be in love. She knows he can win this.

She hugs the pillow tighter.

In the armchair next to the sofa, her older sister Margaerie doesn't look nearly as interested. She's tapping away at the communication device in her hands, glancing at the screen every so often with a weary look on her face if only to keep up the illusion that she's paying attention. Their parents might not notice, but Serena does. She makes a note to ask about it later.

For now, there's a fight to watch!

The tributes have been drawn out to the center of the arena by a storm, not the first of its kind to strike them but certainly the most intense. Wind so strong it's knocking branches off the trees, thunder that seems to shake the television when it cracks. There must be something wrong with the rain, because Lance cried out when it first touched him, and even now he's grimacing. He's fighting against the wind as it pushes him back, making slow but steady progress towards the mouth of the Cornucopia and looking over his shoulder every once and a while to make sure he isn't being followed.

The girl from Eight is around somewhere, but the cameras haven't cut back to her in a while. Serena muses that perhaps she's off somewhere dying but is quickly disappointed as she realizes that if that were the case, they would certainly be showing it. It can't be that easy for Lance, not that he would need it to be. He's _good._

Still, Serena worries about the whereabouts of the girl from Eight. She's dangerous. They all underestimated her in the beginning, and that's how the pretty girl from Lance's district got killed. Heck, it's how Eight's own district _partner_ got killed.

It was pretty fun to watch, though. Even if it was a little bit scary.

Lance pushes on, drawing closer to the Cornucopia's opening. Serena leans forward. He makes it to the Cornucopia and collapses on the ground just far enough inside that he's somewhat shielded from the rain, his hands and knees pressed against the metal floor. He takes a few deep breaths before he flops onto his back, letting the rain that makes it in fall against his face. There's blood on him that Serena didn't notice before, it must have happened before she came out to watch.

"Is he hurt?" She whispers, looking up at Mother.

Mother nods without taking her eyes off the screen.

"What happened?"

"Hush, darling, I'm trying to watch."

"Some kind of animal," Margaerie pipes up. "A mutt, I think. Lots of teeth." She jokingly snaps her own teeth at Serena, who giggles.

Mother shushes them both. "I'm trying to _watch,_" she repeats.

Margaery rolls her eyes and goes back to whatever she was doing before. Serena wilts a bit, hugging the pillow and looking back at the screen.

Having taken a moment to breathe, Lance starts to push himself back up. He's returning shakily to his feet when the sound of scraping metal echoes from somewhere that Serena can't see, and she jumps. Lance does too.

The camera's focus in on Lance's face from inside the Cornucopia, with his back to the storm outside. He's looking at something ahead of him, confusing quickly growing into fear. He grabs scimitar strapped to his waist and goes to take a step back, but he isn't quick enough to draw before he stumbles. He might have been able to catch himself if not for his injury, which causes him to fall backwards. Lightning strikes just outside the Cornucopia, and the camera switches perspectives…

To a shadowy figure approaching Lance from deep inside of it. The girl from Eight, her face partially illuminated by the brief lightning outside. Her face is more red than it is the natural pale color of her skin, caked with blood, and there's something indescribably chilling about the look in her eyes. Even Margaerie is paying attention now.

The girl from Eight approaches slowly, giving Lance ample time to scramble backwards in his sitting position. The scraping sound is coming from the girl dragging her weapon across the floor, an enormous mace that Serena is surprised she can even carry. There's a trail of blood behind it that she can see now, leading back to a puddle further into the Cornucopia, but whatever that puddle was once part of has been obscured. There's no reason to show it; _this_ is the main action.

She walks all the way to Lance, who's laying in the mud just outside the Cornucopia with a pained look on his face. She places her foot on his chest, pressing down. He opens his mouth, but thunder booms overhead as he begins to speak, and Serena can't hear a word.

"Why isn't he getting up?" She asks, half whining. "He had so much time to get up!"

His lips are still moving, but he's far too quiet to make out. Whatever he's saying, his opponent has stilled long enough to listen with her foot still firmly planted on his chest.

"Get _up!_" Serena shrieks, starting to get annoyed. Nobody shushes her.

The camera switches to a view of the girl's face, blood dripping from seemingly everywhere – nose, mouth, scalp, all dripping with it. Serena has a feeling that only a bit of it is actually hers. She catches the tail end of whatever Lance is saying.

"–_Please."_

The girl from Eight takes her time lifting the mace up, clearly struggling to hold the weight of it, and then she brings it down on his head _hard_.

Serena and her father both groan in unison while her mother cheers. Margaerie looks away.

His face is already mangled when the mace comes away, broken and twisted and bloody, but she brings it down again. And again, and again, and again, her movements growing more frenzied, blood flying in every direction. Finally, when his face is little more than an unrecognizable pile of mush, she throws the mace to the side and collapses on the ground beside his lifeless form, face pointed up at the sky.

A canon fires, and the announcement plays.

"Ladies and gentlemen," it begins. "I am pleased to present the victor of the seventy-seventh annual Hunger Games – from District Eight, Kit Damask!"

The anthem blares as the storm begins to subside. Kit just keeps looking at the sky.

Mother is laughing, delighted, raising from her seat and clapping. She hasn't yet changed out of her day clothes even though the sun is down, her applause is muffled by the satin gloves on her hands.

"A good game," she says. "She played it well."

"It's not _faaaair_," Serena whines. "I wanted Lance to win!"

"I'm inclined to agree," Father says gruffly, rising from his seat as well to stretch. "He played it much smarter. And the girl…"

Mother rolls her eyes. "Oh, enough about this. She was charming enough."

"Enough for you, perhaps. We spent good money sponsoring that young man, and he couldn't even pull it together in the end."

"It made for a good show. Isn't that what matters? I enjoyed it, I know you did. Serena?"

The two of them look down at Serena, still pouting in her seat. They stare at each other for a moment, Mother raises an eyebrow. Eventually Serena relents, allowing herself a smile. "Alright," she says. "It was fun."

"Margaerie?" Mother asks, turning to address her older daughter. But when she looks in the direction of the chair, it's already been vacated – without even so much as a goodbye. She purses her lips but doesn't comment. "Well, Serena. You should be off to bed now."

"But–"

"No buts. There's nothing more to see, not until tomorrow. And you have school. Bed, Serena, don't make me tell you again."

Serena groans rather dramatically, pushing herself up off the sofa and tossing her pillow aside. She of course takes the time to kiss her mother and father goodnight, and then she heads up the stairs to her bedroom.

As she settles in bed, she reflects on the game's conclusion. She reflects on the image of Lance's face, unrecognizable as the canon fired. It's _such_ a bummer, really – both because he was cute and because just lost a bet with Evie.

But Mother was right about one thing at least. It had made for a good show.

She can't _wait_ until next year.

* * *

**Another little prologue piece, just to bump the story with an update - I am still very much in need of characters! Males would especially be appreciated, since there's a lot of female tributes, but honestly any tribute will do since there's still quite a few spots to fill in. As of now, I do have a couple districts that are full, so hopefully the next chapter will be a Reaping!**

**For now, this! I think I'm going to have Serena around as a minor recurring character, used primarily to react to the things happening from a Capitol perspective. Her chapters will probably be small interludes between larger events, if people like that idea, so let me know what you think! **

**Finally, on the topic of submitted characters: please be as detailed as you can with the form! The more I know about your character, the easier it will be for me to write them, and the more I'll actually be able to write them. I'm not asking for essays, but enough information that I can confidently work with them really helps. I'm operating on a mostly first come first served basis unless I get a form that's like, one word answers for everything. That's the kind of thing I'll probably have to turn away. So the more detail the better! I'm really liking what I've seen so far, and I'm excited to get to write the first reaping!**

**Until next time, everyone! 3**


	3. 1:01

PART ONE: SHORT STRAWS

**District One**

_Three Days Before Reaping_

**.Onyx, 16**

_A predator watching its prey. _That's what Onyx thinks as he presses his back against the concrete half-wall he's crouched behind, scanning the upper parts of the walls where the padding is replaced with glass windows. They're meant for observation from the outside, but Onyx knows how to use them - he watches, ignoring the faces of the onlookers above, and he waits until he can see his opponent's reflection moving on the other side of the room.

It's strange thinking of himself as a predator when most people wouldn't associate him with the same vicious and animalistic traits the word would imply. He's not a predator in the sense that most people think at all; a hungry, snarling wolf baring down on something weak and gentle. The way Onyx sees it, the role of the predator is all about patience. It's about time taken to observe, it's about learning your opponent and watching the way they move so that you know the best way to strike. Most of the other students at the Academy don't know the first thing about any of that. They just want to hit hard enough that they can taste blood when they lick the sweat off their upper lips, and that can only get them so far.

That's not the predator that wins. The predator that wins is the one that looks before he leaps.

Onyx spots the movement he's been waiting for reflected in the window. He springs up from behind his cover and flings his knife, not even waiting to watch it land before ducking back down. He doesn't really need to look. The thud from the other side of the room and the loud groan from his opponent confirm what he already knows.

A whistle blows outside the training area. "Sterling, excellent throw."

He straightens up again, this time to stay. The doors to the training course have opened and in the doorway stands their trainer, Rhea. She's not looking at him, even though he's the one she just complimented. Instead, he follows her gaze just in time to see Lumeria yank his knife out of her padded vest and shoot him a dangerous glare. He gives her nothing in return, sidestepping to avoid the knife as she throws it back at him. It sticks in the wall, inches from his head. Rhea only chuckles.

"Save it, Hollis," she says. "You'll get your chance soon enough."

Onyx doesn't doubt that. Lumeria is top of the class, has been since he joined the Academy six years ago. There's still a couple years before she can officially be chosen to volunteer, but she's basically a shoo-in and everyone knows it.

She keeps glaring at Onyx for another couple seconds before she relents, storming out into the hall. He waits until she's gone to pull his knife out of the wall and secure it back on his belt. With his weapon collected, he steps out into the hallway too.

There are more trainees lined up against the wall outside waiting for their turn in the room, most belonging to the older age groups. With another Reaping so close, everyone is getting antsy and working harder than ever to be chosen. It usually goes to eighteen year olds, but there have been a few younger selections over the years. But Onyx isn't looking to be a tribute, nor does he ever really expect to be. And he's fine with that. All the training, the time spent at the Academy, it's just a precaution. The Games are an inevitability, and he would rather be safe than sorry.

He walks down the hall, hoping to make it to the showers before they fill up, but he's only about halfway through when someone from the left side of the hallway shoves him.

"Blindspot!" They shout as his shoulder connects painfully with the wall, and he doesn't need to see to know who it is.

It's easier not to look. He'll just get angry if he looks, so he keeps his head angled in such a way that the older boy's face is obscured and tries to brush it off, and keep walking. Of course, that can't be allowed. He's grabbed by the shoulder, pushed up against the wall.

Staring down at him is the Academy's golden boy, Alexander Cradle. Who also happens to be the bane of Onyx's very existence.

"Training hard," he says with feigned interest. "You're what, sixteen? Looking to be chosen in the next couple of years? I wish I could say you've got a chance, but…"

Onyx flinches as Alexander raises his hand, and the older boy only laughs. He reaches down and traces over the scar that runs through Onyx's eye, ignoring whatever discomfort it causes.

"Yeah." He pulls his hand away. "Not likely. The Academy doesn't want anything to do with freaks like you. There's really no point in you being here. You know that, right?"

Onyx knows. Alexander says it all the time. He just doesn't listen.

"But me? Oh, you'll never guess what news I got today." Alexander releases his hold and steps back, but his two snickering friends step forward to make sure Onyx doesn't have a way out. "You're looking at District One's next victor, kid."

Again, Onyx averts his eyes. He doesn't have time for this, and he's really trying not to get too worked up here.

"Nothing? Not even a congratulations?" Silence. "That's not very polite of you." Alexander shoves him again, and his back hits the wall. He considers the situation, and then shrugs, seeming to change his mind. "Whatever. I've got bigger priorities now. Someone like _you_ wouldn't understand."

With that, he and his friends step back and resume their walk down the hallway.

"Oh!" Alexander calls over his shoulder without even stopping. "Left a surprise for you in one of the closets downstairs! You probably shouldn't keep him waiting!"

Onyx rolls his eyes, but he doesn't get moving until Alexander is around the corner and out of sight.

**x**

It takes him a while, but eventually Onyx finds the right closet. Turquoise is sitting on the floor inside as expected, looking as though he's taking a nap. His eyes slowly open as the light filters through the doorway and he offers Onyx a slight smile.

"You're getting too used to this," Onyx says, offering the boy a hand.

Turquoise only shrugs, accepting it and getting to his feet. "What else am I supposed to do?"

Onyx doesn't have an answer for that. "They picked Alexander. As the tribute this year, I mean," he says instead.

"Doesn't surprise me," Turquoise mutters. "At least that'll get him off our backs, right?"

"Until he wins," Onyx says, rolling his eyes. "Then he'll come home and be more of an asshole than ever."

"Or not. Maybe we'll get lucky," Turquoise shrugs, his smile widening just a fraction. "Did you hear who the girl tribute is this year?"

* * *

**.Diana, 18**

_Efficiency. Lethality. Honor. Victory._

_The sweet taste of victory._

Diana hungers at the thought of it. She received the news almost the minute she stepped through the doors of the Academy and the adrenaline hasn't left her blood yet. She knew, of course. There was never another option. She's going to the games, and she's going to fucking win.

She slits the throat of another training dummy and watches the fake blood trickle down its chest. This is her element. This is what she knows.

_Mom will be proud, _she thinks to herself, and nearly laughs out loud.

Mom will flip _shit_, more likely. In that strangely calm way she does, a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach her eyes and an odd inflection to her voice like she's trying to follow a script but can't quite tell what it says. Whatever, she'll get over it. Just like she got over the Academy and the training dummies in the bedroom. Which, speaking of-

Diana dives for another one, cutting it open down the middle from throat to belly button, and whirls for the next without stopping, driving a second knife into the area where it's temple would be. She straightens up with a grin, tugging the knife out.

The crowd gathering to watch her hasn't escaped her notice. Other girls mostly, a few from her age group watching on with jealousy, with hate in their eyes. Chanel in particular looks like she wants to rip her throat out, and Diana welcomes her to try. There's a good number more who look younger, as young as ten or eleven. The newest recruits, admiring her. She pays no mind to any of it.

There will be plenty of that from the Capitol.

She squares her shoulders and walks out without giving so much of a wave to her audience. They'll see her on the big screen soon enough.

* * *

**District One**

_Reaping Day_

**.Diana, 18**

Diana doesn't have the patience for speeches today.

Not that she ever really did. Today, though, she has even less. Every word that glittery asshole escort says sends a stinging pain straight into her temple, he's a walking goddamn headache. She can't be bothered to remember his name. It won't matter.

_Efficiency._

On the large screen looming over the crowd, the same video as ever begins to play. Diana isn't even looking, she's staring straight at the bowl full of names. Counting down the seconds. Time is moving slower than ever.

_Lethality._

After what feels like an eternity, the video stops. The escort clears his throat and starts talking again. His voice contains an unbearable amount of pep, and he likes the sound of it too much. She stares at his hand like she can will it to move towards the bowl.

_Victory._

"First, as always, we'll draw for the girls!"

Finally, he moves towards the bowl. He swirls his gloved hand around inside, staring up at the sun with a dazed look in his eyes. Diana thinks he might be a bit tipsy. He's not taking this seriously enough.

He pulls out a slip of paper and starts to open it. It's slow, agonizingly slow.

"Madelaine Cullen!"

A girl who looks to be about her sister's age rolls her eyes and heads to the stage. She looks bored, not even looking at the cameras, checking her nails and smoothing out her dress. She knows that she has nothing to worry about, that a volunteer will be coming as soon as they call for one. The applause is tepid, they know that the real tribute hasn't made it to the stage yet.

_Blood._

While the escort moves towards the boy's bowl, Diana watches young Madelaine. She's not an Academy girl, that's for sure. Too delicate. Her nails are grown out and neatly manicured, her hair looks silky soft. She looks like she might be friends with Lilliana, and maybe she is. _She wouldn't last a day_, Diana muses. _She wouldn't last an hour. Someone would get her in the Cornucopia, stick a knife in her back while she was bending over to check a bag. Like an idiot._

God, she can't wait to get her hands on a knife.

The slip is pulled from the boy's bowl.

"Alexander Cradle!"

The crowd falls silent more out of bemusement than anything else, and it's Alexander himself who breaks the silence with laughter. The rest of the crowd has started laughing along with him, whoops and cheers coming from all around. Diana watches him walk up to the stage, sizing him up.

She knows him, of course. They haven't spoken much, but she's gone up against him enough to say that she knows him. Top of their class, just behind her, obviously. A formidable opponent. She looks forward to fighting with him, both alongside and against.

With both of the Reaped tributes on the stage, it's Diana's time to shine. There's a buzz of adrenaline in the back of her head, escort-induced headache long forgotten. He raises his arm and makes a gesture towards young Madelaine.

"Do we have any volunteers from the-"

Diana doesn't even allow him time to finish his sentence. The adrenaline propels her forward, and she's already stepping through the crowd as she speaks.

"I volunteer!" She shouts, and the rest of the crowd parts for her. Unphased, Madelaine hops off the stage and returns to her designated section.

_Now_ the crowd is excited. There are some real cheers, and for once Diana decides to join in. She puts both her fists up in the air, a grin spreading across her face, and lets out something like a battle cry, loud and joyful and the only way she can think to get across everything she's been feeling for days. She shakes the escort's hand and sees him wince as she nearly crushes it with her own.

Alexander laughs, giving her some decent applause as well after she's introduced herself. A formidable opponent indeed.

Things settle as the escort moves on, making the same gesture as before in Alexander's direction. There will be no volunteers, of course - Alexander was already chosen, there's no reason for anyone else to speak up. It's a formality, nothing more.

"And for the boys, any volunteers?"

* * *

**.Onyx, 16**

Onyx doesn't join in on the laughter when Alexander's name is called. He doesn't clap. He doesn't even want to look, but he can't bring himself to look away.

On the screens over his head, too many pairs of Alexander's eyes are staring down at him. Asserting themselves as superior, laughing. He's clapping for himself as he gets up on the stage, grinning. He's just so damn _happy_.

There's an anger deep inside of Onyx that's slowly building up, threatening to spill over. _Why should he get what he wants?_

That stupid fucking smirk is plastered on every screen as far as Onyx can see. His blood is boiling, it's hard to think. It's damn near _impossible_ to think about anything except every insult Alexander has every hurled his way, every time he tripped him up at the Academy or tried to pick a fight. It's like a floodgate has broken somewhere in Onyx's brain and he hears it all at once, _feels_ it all at once. A pain in his shoulder, his head, his chest. A kick in the stomach, a laugh. A finger tracing over the scar on his face. A hundred pairs of eyes are watching him and they all belong to Alexander, a hundred Alexanders are looking down at him from above and he thinks he might know how to shut them up.

Diana Strongarm volunteers. No surprise there. She's vicious, exactly what the Capitol wants.

So is Alexander.

"And for the boys? Any volunteers?

This is everything that Alexander has ever wanted. The most genuinely happy that Onyx has ever seen him. Proud, laughing, excited. All Onyx can think about is wiping that grin off his face. What happens next, well...

_(The predator that wins is the one that looks before it leaps.)_

But this time, Onyx doesn't look. He doesn't even think.

"I volunteer!"

He leaps, and he knows right away that he won't land anywhere good.

* * *

**.Diana, 18**

The kid's got guts. Diana will give him that much at least.

She doesn't know him, but she knows _of _him. She's watched the older boys kick him around for years. Honestly, she wouldn't have expected him to have what it took to volunteer - he never did have much of a spine, always more willing to lay down and take it than to stand up and fight back. Hopefully he'll learn something new from this, actually make an effort to defend himself in the arena.

Or not. She wouldn't really mind that either, when she thinks about it. One less person to worry about.

Not that she's got any reason to be worried.

Dead silence follows. She glances at Alexander, who's somewhere between outrage and devastation as the Peacekeepers start motioning for him to leave the stage.

One of them grabs his arm, and he pulls roughly away. "No, I-" they grab him again, harder, and start pulling "Fuck, _no! _This was supposed to be _my_ year! _Mine!_ You can't let that fucking freak…"

He trails off as he's dragged further into the crowd and then past it. It's a rather pathetic display. Diana resists the urge to roll her eyes.

The kid gets on stage, already looking a bit uncertain. _Does he have any idea what he's gotten himself into?_

The escort giggles, a high-pitched, nervous sound. "Well, that was...something! What's your name, young man?"

The kid blinks, belatedly noticing the microphone in front of his face. "Um. Onyx. Onyx Sterling."

"Well, congratulations Onyx Sterling!" The escort cheers, motioning for the audience to do the same. There's the same half-hearted applause as there was for Madelaine, the same general vibe to the crowd. This is not their tribute. This is not who was supposed to be here.

If the lack of applause bothers Onyx, he doesn't let it show. Already his nerves are dissipating, or at least being masked.

"District One, your tributes! Diana Strongarm and Onyx Sterling!"

She turns to face him, as is customary. How old is he anyways, fifteen? Sixteen? Too young to be volunteering, that's for sure. Not that it matters.

He's the first to extend his hand, and she takes it. She squeezes hard while she shakes, and to his credit, he doesn't even flinch.

_This is going to be interesting._

* * *

**District One**

_Goodbyes_

**.Onyx, 16**

The door comes flying open before Onyx even gets a chance to sit down. Soraya is the first one in, making a beeline for him.

"What were you_ thinking?_" Soraya asks, running over and enveloping him in a tight hug.

Onyx doesn't have a good answer for that. "I just - I don't know, I got…"

When Soraya pulls away her face is streaked with tears. Over her shoulder, Onyx sees her fiance Jett in the doorway, a similarly distraught look on his face. "What are we going to _do?_ We can't have the wedding without you, I can't-"

Her voice cracks, and she lowers her head for a moment as she tries to compose herself.

"I can't lose you," she says, voice barely above a whisper. When she looks back up at him she's pulled herself together somewhat. "You're my son. Regardless of...of everything that's happened, where we started. You're my son, _Onyx._ This wedding won't happen without you. You're going to come home."

"Of course he will," Jett agrees, coming up behind her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "You've trained for this, right? You'll know what to do in there."

Onyx nods. "I - yes, I'll know what to do."

Jett smiles. "This is going to be a good thing. It's going to be fine. And your wedding gift to us can be a house in Victor's Village."

* * *

**.Diana, 18**

There are no visitors for Diana. Not that she expected any.

Instead, she stares out the window while she waits for the call to depart. She looks out at District One, her home, and feels an odd detachment from it. This isn't _really_ her home. This isn't really where she was ever meant to be.

It'll be different when she comes back. People will respect her. Even her parents will, once she has something to offer them - the honor, the riches, the house. Not that they really need any of it. They have more than enough as it is.

She'll be a mentor. She'll train students at the Academy. She'll leave a legacy behind like a trail of blood, and people are going to tremble at the sound of her goddamn name.

This is everything she's ever wanted.

Failure is not an option.

* * *

**One down, eleven to go! Oh boy...I've got a few things to say before I let this chapter be over.**

**First, please review if you can and let me know what you think - of the characters (belonging to the wonderful Annabeth Pie and zoewinter1, thank you both for the submissions), but also of the chapter's format. It feels scattered to me in places, but also like the most efficient way to get through things. I want to be able to introduce the characters, and I don't want to drag the Reapings themselves out too long, but I also don't want to cut them out entirely. Does this seem good to you guys, is it easy enough to follow? Any suggestions on how to improve? Anything is welcome, I really want to make this good for everyone, and this is my first time writing one of these so I'm just kind of going with the flow here.**

**So yeah! I don't have a ton of pairs yet (more male characters would be very, very welcome), and I don't think this is going to end up being in perfect order from one to twelve, but we'll see what happens! Another thing to have in mind if you're making a character - right now, I have a lot of more withdrawn/grumpy/serious types. Some different personalities would be awesome to have.**

**Also, and this is probably obvious by now - I am...not a proofreader. I really just write these up and send them out. If you notice any typos, or anything you think might be a typo, let me know! I reread once I've posted and go back to change things pretty regularly, but for some reason I just never catch things before I post, so. Yeah. Let's work together here, lol.**


	4. 1:02

**District Five**

_3 Days Before Reaping_

**.Pippa, 17**

The kids are singing. It's a happy song, one that every child knows the lyrics to from a young age - it spreads by word of mouth, has for as long as Pippa can remember. She can't even remember who taught it to her, but she knows it. She hums along, a gentle smile on her face.

They're so young. There's so much life ahead of them.

(If they're lucky.)

The thought causes her smile to waver and she turns around so that they can't see, busying herself with organizing some of the finger painting that they'd done that morning. They're mostly dry, but she's still careful about letting anything touch the paint. The papers are bright with streaks of red and blue and yellow, cartoonish suns with smiling faces and crudely drawn stick-people holding hands. She lays them out one by one on the makeshift drying rack, admiring them each in turn.

One in particular strikes her, wipes the remaining smile right off her face. A cluster of red and a murky brown, like all the colors mixed together in one. There's a sad looking face in the center of it all, surrounded by strange, dark figures. It's not like the other paintings, there's something unsettling about it. And something familiar. She checks the corner of the page for a name.

_Abel._

Realization hits her like a ton of bricks, and a chill goes down her spine as the song dissolves into giggles behind her. She turns and looks around the room for Adira, who she finds sitting at her small desk near the corner of the room. She's clearly amused by what she sees watching the children play, only half focused on whatever she's supposed to be doing. Pippa hesitates, not wanting to ruin the good mood, but approaches.

"Mom?" She says softly when she's just in front of the desk. Adira looks up, and Pippa places the painting in front of her. A few seconds pass as Adira examines it.

While she does, Pippa looks over the room again, this time for Abel. She finds him alone in the opposite corner, reading a book on the rug. He hadn't participated in the song. He doesn't look very happy, but then, that's the same as most days.

Adira looks up at her daughter, concerned, but slightly confused.

"His sister," Pippa answers the silent question. "In the Games last year. The mutts, they…"

The two of them look down at the painting.

"I remember," Adira cuts her off, voice barely above a whisper. "This time of year must be bringing up bad memories for him, I'll...I'll have a word with his parents when they pick him up today. To let them know. Thank you for bringing this to me."

Pippa turns, ready to head back to the paintings, when her mother speaks again.

"In the meantime," she says, "Would you maybe...talk to him? You know he trusts you, all the kids do. It could help."

She doubts that, but she would never say it out loud. Instead she nods and heads towards the carpet area, kneeling down beside the young boy. He doesn't react.

"Hi, Abel." Still, she gets no response. She keeps her tone soft, not that it's usually any different. "You're awfully quiet today."

Abel shrugs, not taking his eyes off the book.

There's a hundred things she could say. That she's sorry, that she's worried, that she wants to know what's on his mind. She could tell him not to do that again, to keep his paintings more cheerful. She could encourage him to continue expressing his thoughts through art. The thing is, though, he's _seven_ \- seven years old, and he watched his sister die on live television. How can she make that any better? Where can she even begin?

Her own siblings come to mind. The nightmares Lucas used to have, especially back when she was first old enough for the Reaping. They aren't quite this young anymore, but she knows what she might have done then.

She gives him a gentle smile. "Would you like me to read to you?"

This catches his attention. He looks up at her and just stares for a moment before nodding slowly, unsure. He hands her the book and scoots over on the floor to give her space to sit. She takes the book and leans back against the wall, lifting her arm to allow Abel to curl up against her as she begins to read.

.

**.Lucas, 15**

A train sounds in the distance, drowning out Dylan's laughter as it draws closer. That's their cue - back on their feet, polite smiles on their faces. Lucas scarfs down the last bite of a sweet roll and licks the honey off his fingers, no eating on the job. The two of them look at each other, still snickering, as Dylan dusts off his pants and gets in position. The booth that they're assigned to is small, just barely big enough that they can both fit in it comfortably, but they make it work. Not like there's actually much to do other than wait around for the train to come in. Dylan wedges himself behind a small counter, and Lucas approaches the switch to open the gate.

The train gets closer and closer until it finally pulls to a stop just in front of the booth that they're in. It's small, not meant for traveling too far - not like the big tracks, the ones that go all the way out to the Capitol. It's for the workers at the power plants, the ones that are too far out to walk, and of course the Peacekeepers that accompany them. The doors open and people start filing out. They look tired, squinting in the sunlight and walking with hunched backs. It's not the same kind of backbreaking work as, say, the miners in Twelve or the farmers in Nine, but shit. The days are still long, and the work is still demanding. Providing power across the country is no small feat.

But with that comes a sense of pride, Lucas can see it in a lot of their walks. He's seen the same thing in his father for as long as he can remember.

The crowd of workers pauses at the gates, and just as Lucas reaches to open them, a nearby Peacekeeper holds up a hand to stop him.

"Headcounts," he says. The only explanation he gives.

"You didn't do that before they left?" Most people probably wouldn't even ask, but Lucas can't help himself. It's going to take _forever,_ and he's got school tomorrow, work to finish up at home. He doesn't have time to stand around waiting.

The Peacekeeper looks at him. A mask covers his face, but Lucas can tell he's annoyed. "Protocol. One isn't always enough."

"I don't think you lost anybody in the five feet between here and the train." His words are sharp, not hiding his own irritation either. Bad move.

"I don't think _you_ have any place to-"

"Kidding!" Dylan interjects with an apologetic smile. "He's just kidding around, sorry about him." He shoots Lucas a warning look, and Lucas resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Right," he says in the most convincing voice he can muster. It isn't very convincing at all. "Just kidding. Carry on, good sir." His voice is laced with sarcasm, but thankfully the Peacekeeper just turns sharply away.

"Why do you have to be like that, man?" Dylan mutters. Exasperated as he looks, he can't hide his amusement.

Lucas shrugs. "Why do they?"

"I'm serious," he says, watching the Peacekeepers roam around the crowd of workers. "You're asking for trouble, and your sister would kick my ass if I let you get arrested or something."

He's not wrong there. Lucas stays quiet for the remainder of the headcount, taking great pleasure in watching Dylan stifle laughter as they make faces at each other. Time flies surprisingly fast, as it often does with Dylan around. The Peacekeeper gives Lucas the okay to open the gates, and the crowd begins filing in.

**x**

Lucas is first greeted with the scent of freshly cooked bread when he opens the door, followed by whatever combination of vegetables and seasonings his mother, Adira, has on the stove. The house always smells like heaven in the evenings, and Lucas is just glad he isn't too late. He pushes the door shut behind him with his foot as he steps forward. He's ready to head towards his bedroom when she speaks up.

"Lucas," she greets him with a smile. "Could you start setting the table for me?"

He nods, rerouting to sling his messenger bag over the back of a chair. His younger sister Lena is sitting at the table with a notebook open in front of her, and he taps her on the top of the head as he passes by.

"Hard at work, I see," he says as she reaches up like she's fixing her hair. So dramatic. Nothing even messed it up. She doesn't respond. "Aw, a little grumpy today?"

"I have a lot of things on my mind, Lucas," she says very seriously, and he turns towards the cabinets just in time to avoid her catching him holding back a laugh. He can't help it, there's just something funny about that coming from someone so young. "I don't expect you to understand."

"Six plates tonight," Adira says as she glances over to see him balancing five.

Lena's attempt at a serious demeanor changes in an instant, replaced by pure mirth as she informs him, "_Ashton_ is here tonight."

Lucas chuckles a bit. "Oh, no surprise there."

"Cheeky, cheeky," someone says behind him, and he turns to see Ashton himself walking into the kitchen. Pippa, of course, isn't far behind - hard to stray when they won't let go of each other's hands. There's a pinkish hue to her cheeks and she's grinning ear to ear.

"Hey, I'm not complaining," Lucas says. "Without you, there's no proper balance around here. It's Dad and I against the women of the house."

"What's that?" Adira asks, looking over her shoulder to raise an eyebrow at him. She's teasing, only pretending to be mad.

He plays along acting scared and trying to cover it up with a "Nothing!" and a laugh as he starts setting plates down on the table. When he's finished, he sits next to Lena, and Pippa and Ashton sit next to each other on the side across from them.

"Did work go well?" Pippa asks. "No unnecessary antagonizing of the Peacekeepers?" She keeps a light, playful tone to her voice, but there's an underlying seriousness to it.

Lucas grins. "No more than usual. All good on your end? You didn't lose any kids?"

"A few made a run for it, but we caught them in time," Adira interrupts, grinning back as she comes over to set a platter of bread on the table. Four hands reach out instantly, and she slaps them all away. "Ah! Not yet. Your father is running late, and this is a _family_ dinner."

"Ooooh, Ashton is _faaamily_ now?" Lena snickers devilishly.

"Well, he's here enough," Adira says, reaching over Ashton's head to place a fresh bowl on the table.

"It's an _honor_ to be included," he says, placing a hand over his heart. He's laying it on a little thick and it's entirely intentional, prompting a giggle from Pippa and another playful eye roll from Lucas.

There's comfort in the familiarity of it all, but the end of the week is hanging over everyone's head like a dark cloud. They joke, they laugh, they do their best to cover it up, but it's a hard time of year for everyone. Every year they get older, every year it's another slip in the bowl. Lucas is just grateful they don't have to take any extra tesserae.

As his mother continues cooking, he can see the way she takes every opportunity to look back at them. She looks almost afraid.

Like maybe eventually she's going to turn around, and all of them will be gone.

* * *

**District Five**

_Reaping Day_

**.Pippa, 17**

They walk towards the Reaping together, and splitting up is always the hardest part.

Ashton doesn't let go of Pippa's hand the entire way, and she doesn't let Lena or Lucas out of her sight. She doesn't like getting her finger pricked, even after all these years. She tries not to look, instead offering Ashton an attempt at a smile that comes off more as a grimace. Once they've had their fingerprints taken, he sends her off with a quick kiss. And then they separate - Lucas and Ashton off to the boy's section, Lena scurrying off to find her friends among the younger girls. Thankfully Pippa isn't entirely alone, Gracelynn catches her by the arm and actually manages a comforting smile as they head towards their designated area.

"Feeling alright?" She asks, leaning in close to whisper.

Pippa lets out a nervous little giggle. "Today? Never. But I'll manage."

"We've survived plenty of Reapings before this one," Gracelynn reminds her. "All of us have. Today won't be any different."

As good a friend as Gracelynn is, her attempt at reassurance falls flat. There is no guarantee of safety on Reaping day.

District Five's escort is an unnaturally peppy young man called Blaize who sounds excited regardless of what he's saying and does a lot of clapping and laughing and sing-songy voices. He practically skips up on stage, seeming eager to get to the drawings as he rushes through all the formalities.

The time to draw comes far too soon. Blaize can barely contain his excitement, rummaging around deep in the bowl, reaching for the slips at the very bottom to bring one up.

"Oh!" He chirps. "This one feels about right!"

He pulls a slip out.

"Ladies and gentlemen! For District Five's first tribute, we have…"

.

**.Lucas, 15**

For a moment, Lucas manages to feel like he's only dreaming.

Only for a moment, though.

It passes quickly. He searches for his sister on the other side of the crowd, finds her wide-eyed and staring ahead at the stage. She's keeping it together but he can see the tension in her shoulders and she realizes how many eyes are on her, the way she's jolted into moving by her friend tapping her lightly on the shoulder. She walks up calm, as far as anyone can tell, but Lucas can read her better than that. He can see what her neutral expression is hiding.

_Fuck_. Already, he's trying to find ways to reassure himself that everything will be fine, that she can win this, she _has_ to. She has to. Losing Pippa isn't an _option_ here.

In the moments that follow, he hates Blaize more than he's ever hated anyone in his life. The escort claps, helping Pippa up to the stage with both hands and motioning for the crowd to cheer louder than they are. The applause is never particularly enthusiastic, but he tries. Same as every other year.

"Pippa Mason!" He repeats, finishing off his own applause and heading towards the boy's bowl.

"And now," he says, "For your second tribute…"

The slip comes out. Lucas is so busy being afraid for Pippa that he forgets to hold his breath.

"Ashton Hale!"

...Somehow, things just keep getting worse.

He watches Pippa's composure nearly break, hands flying up to cover her mouth. There's a shift in the boy's side of the crowd, people turning, looking for Ashton. Lucas keeps trying to rationalize, maybe this is good. Maybe they can make this work. It wouldn't be the first time something like this happened, the tragic lovers approach nearly worked out for the pair from Twelve a few years ago. Sure, the guy died, but the girl made it out, and that's really what mattered to Lucas. They'll keep each other alive, Ashton will keep her alive long enough that -

Ashton gets up on the stage and rather than engaging in a handshake with the escort, he runs straight for Pippa. The two of them embrace in the center of the stage, clutching each other like a lifeline. Sometimes young love is fleeting, impulsive. It lacks substance and it withers way by the time they reach adulthood.

Not Pippa and Ashton. He can see it in their faces when they pull away from each other, the looks in their eyes. It might work for Lucas if Ashton gives his life for Pippa in the arena, but for Pippa herself? It would destroy her. He's not sure she could come back from that.

He has to protect her from that. He has to protect her from _this_.

The two of them are holding hands on the stage, and Blaize looks even more delighted than before.

"Excellent, excellent! Now, moving on...any volunteers from the girls?"

Nothing from the crowd, as expected. The Games aren't exactly Five's favorite thing in the world.

Lucas knows what he has to do here.

"Volunteers from the boys?"

He's going to protect his sister from it all - from the cruelty of the arena, from death. From heartbreak. He's going to protect her the way that she's always protected him.

Even if it kills him.

* * *

**District Five**

_Goodbyes_

**.Pippa, 17**

When all is said and done, when their crying parents and nervous sister have reluctantly left them, when Pippa has nothing left of Ashton but the faintest memory of his lips touching hers, they're allowed to see each other.

Lucas walks into the room with a sheepish smile on his face, like he's just been scolded for some kind of prank rather than sentencing himself to death alongside her.

"What did you do?" She asks.

"I did it for-"

Pippa doesn't let him finish. "_Don't _say you did this for me!"

"Well, I did!" He's at least more serious now, crossing his arms defensively. "What was I supposed to do? Even if I wasn't already going to do this for _your _survival's sake, I couldn't let you lose Ashton like that."

"_How is losing you any better?_"

She raises her voice just slightly, not a yell by any other person's standards, but coming from her it certainly gives Lucas reason to pause. The gears are turning in his head, processing her words, and he looks as though he's started to realize the flaw in his thinking. Still, he remains outwardly confident as he meets Pippa's eyes.

"I'm going to keep you safe," he says. "I'm going to make sure you get out. You can't do anything to stop me."

"You _idiot_," Pippa whispers, finally grabbing Lucas and wrapping him in a hug. "I'll just have to save you _first_."

Lucas can't help it, he laughs. There are tears in his eyes and it's getting hard to breathe in his sister's grasp, but he laughs. "I'd like to see you try."

_And so you will, _Pippa thinks.

* * *

**Another chapter down! I'm still trying to get the hang of these intro chapters, so all of them are probably going to end up looking a little different. I try to include as much information about each character as I can, but some things are hard to fit in naturally, so I'm sorry if certain things feel like they're coming out of nowhere? Oof. It's hard for me to tell, since I have the forms. As I've said before, tell me your thoughts, constructive criticism, etc! Especially if it's your characters in the chapter - which, in this case, both of these characters belong to theflowercrowns!**

**Even if they aren't your characters, reviews are very, very helpful. Let me know you're out there and you're reading! Up next will I think be District 12, but after that I don't have any more pairs! So more characters are super welcome. Either way, as you can see, I don't really care about keeping Reapings in order. **

**Yeah, I don't really have much more to say here. Let me know of any typos I missed in proofreading, same as before. A question, though - it seems like a lot of SYOTs use reader-driven sponsor systems, and I wasn't going to do that at first, but now I'm wondering if I should? Let me know what you think! I'm not even really sure how they work, but I'll figure out something if you're all interested.**

**Anyways! Goodbye for now, folks! Time to get working on that next chapter.**


	5. 1:03

1.03

**District Twelve**

_3 Days Before Reaping_

**.Maria, 12**

It's quiet in the meadow.

It's quiet back home too, but Maria likes the meadow's quiet better. The Seam is quiet because nobody ever knows what to say; it's a nervous, somber kind of quiet broken only by her father's hacking cough or the cries of the young children in the house next door. The meadow is a peaceful kind of quiet, like a dream. Like an escape. There's soft grass and flowers and it feels like a different world. A different life, even.

Maria likes to pretend sometimes that things aren't as bad as they are. She sits in the meadow and she pretends like this is where she lives and this is where she can stay, and she doesn't ever have to leave it. She can sit here picking flowers with Charlie and Pik, wearing soft yellow crowns and not worrying about what might come next.

Speaking of…

"Okay, that one...is a duck, see?"

"A duck?"

"Yeah, look! There's his beak, and those are his feet…"

Just behind her, Charlie and Pik are laying on their backs looking up at the sky. There aren't many clouds overhead, but they're taking advantage of the few they can see, Pik trying to point out all kinds of shapes and images. Maria smiles, but keeps her focus on her hands folded in her lap. There's too much to think about today.

Her friends don't miss this. They fall into silence, sharing a look. Charlie sits up, but seems unsure what to say. Pik rolls around so that she's lying on her stomach and props her head up in her hands. There's a serious look on her face that doesn't fit her, and she's biting her lip like she doesn't even want to let the words out. Eventually, she asks - "How much did you take?"

Maria sighs, looking down at the wilting flowers in her hands. "As much as I needed," she says. "Six entries."

Charlie looks away, focusing his gaze pointedly on the ground and plucking little blades of grass up, one at a time. Pik only sighs, putting a smile on her face.

"That's not so bad. Plenty of girls have more than that, I'm sure."

"It's still a lot."

"Hey, look, you're gonna be okay. Val always took a bunch of tesserae too, right? And Camilo still does, and neither of them have _ever_ gotten picked."

She's not wrong. Maria is only following what her older siblings have already done, and she's sure there are plenty of girls her age with more siblings to feed, more tesserae to take. Her name is in more times than she's comfortable with

Pik refuses to let any of it get her down. She pushes herself to her knees and lifts a sloppy, not quite finished flower crown from the grass next to her. She lays it on Maria's head, giggling as it half falls apart on top of her.

Maria tries to smile back, but it doesn't quite meet her eyes.

.

**.Viren, 17**

Viren tries not to complain too much about his job. He could be in the mines, or worse - unemployed. That's about as good as a death sentence around here. Still, it's times like these - middle of the day, the peak of summer, sun bearing down on Twelve in full force - that he wishes he worked anywhere but a bakery.

He uses his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow while he pulls a sheet of bread out with the other. Fresh, soft, more appetizing than anything he could ever afford. His mouth waters at the sight of it, but it's nearly time for him to have a break, he'll pull through. He places the loaves up on the table and shuts the oven.

_Fuck, _it's hot. The windows are open as far as Marnie will allow, but she doesn't like them open too much since those pesky rats got in and ate half the bread a few weeks back. Viren isn't about to break the rules.

Daisy, on the other hand, might. She's out of breath as she rushes through the back door, hastily tying an apron around her waist. "Fuck," she says, voicing Viren's thoughts almost perfectly. "It's _way_ too hot in here." She doesn't even finish tying the apron before she heads over to a window and opens it completely.

"Your mom said-"

"I _know _what my mom said," Daisy interrupts, rolling her eyes good naturedly. "But what's she gonna do? Fire me?"

"Fire_ me_," Viren says, but he's smiling as he does.

Daisy scoffs. "Please. She _loves_ you. You know how many times I've heard her call you '_the son she never had'_?"

"You're right," he agrees. "She _will_ fire you. And then I will become her son, and I'll take over your life, and you'll have to go live mine…"

Daisy laughs. "Living with ol' Jenya? You say that like it's a bad thing." She opens up the second window, struggling a bit to get it up all the way.

"Right again, Daze. We'll just have to figure out a suitable punishment. For now, though…" he points down at the oven. "There's still bread to bake."

"Oh, bread to bake, there's _always_ bread to bake," Daisy rolls her eyes again, reaching towards one of the cabinets overhead and pulling out a new bag of flour. "Never ends," she says with a sigh as it slams down on the table.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Viren says, grabbing an empty bowl and setting it beside the flour.

"I would," Daisy says, grabbing a measuring cup and starting to measure some of the flour out. "I would have it up in the Capitol, living the high life. Gorging myself on sweets and breaking all my toes to stuff them into heels so sharp they could stick 'em in the Cornucopia." She dumps it into the bowl, grinning up at Viren.

"I'll pass." He turns and begins rummaging around the cabinets again, this time in search of salt. "I'd sooner starve down here with the squirrels and the mice than live with those pigs."

"Careful," Daisy snickers. "Too much of that talk and you might just lose your tongue."

Viren only shrugs, reaching back to hand her the salt.

The older he gets, the less he concerns himself with keeping it.

.

**.Maria, 12**

A long day spent in the meadow does wonders to lift Maria's spirits, and by that evening it's like there's nothing wrong at all. She walks between Charlie and Pik, the three of them all with their arms looped together, chatting and laughing and taking up far too much space on the narrow pathways leading towards the Seam.

There's almost no one else home when she steps through the door - just Camilo in his favorite moth-eaten chair in the living room, a thick book balanced on his knee. He looks up when he hears the door open and greets Maria with a smile, dog-earing his place in the book and shutting it.

"They aren't back yet?" Maria asks.

Camilo sighs, leaning his head against the back of the chair. "You know how the summer gets. As long as the sun is up…"

He doesn't need to finish. Maria knows exactly what he means, she doesn't even know why she asked. Still, she frowns, slipping her shoes off and leaving them by the door. "But they're okay, right? If something happened-"

"We would know," Camilo assures her. "They'll be back soon, alright?"

Still, it's like a switch has been flipped, the good feelings brought on by the day with her friends completely evaporating. She's been forced back into reality. Slowly, she crosses the room to sit on the small sofa pushed up against the wall. Broken springs cause the left side of it to droop, but she doesn't mind - it's her favorite place to sit.

Camilo doesn't miss her attitude. He watches her the whole time, the way she curls up on the sofa with her knees against her chest. "Are you feeling okay?"

Maria only shrugs.

He sighs, setting his book down on the chair before moving to sit next to her. She speaks before he can even ask what's wrong -

"What if they pick me?"

Camilo shakes his head. "You can't...you can't think like that. They won't, alright?"

"But what if they _do?_"

"Your name is only in there one time-"

"Six times," she corrects him.

"Six…" for a second, he looks just as scared as she feels, but he covers it up quickly. "Sh-_damn it_, Maria, I thought we told you not to."

"I had to," she insists. "We needed it."

He can't argue with that. After a moment, he sighs.

"You know how many times my name is in there this year? Thirty. _That's_ a number to worry about," he says. "If any of us is getting picked, it's me."

"That isn't better," Maria mutters.

"Yeah, well it isn't _you_." A pause, and then he wraps an arm around Maria's shoulder, pulling her close. "My name has been in that bowl plenty of times. So has Val's, and she made it through. We've always been fine, and you're gonna be fine too, okay?"

She nods, even though she isn't entirely convinced.

He doesn't promise, of course, because nobody can promise that.

.

**.Viren, 17**

It's nearly dark out when Viren finishes the last of his duties at the bakery. Daisy bids him farewell and promises she won't skip out on school tomorrow, and Marnie sends him off with a hug and a fresh loaf of bread to take home. She even throws in a small slice of cake, a bit less fresh, but still a gracious gift. She doesn't listen to Viren's attempts to turn it down, she never does. She's never had any patience for his pride.

Not that he tries too hard to turn it down today. It'll be a nice surprise.

There's a dim light coming from the house as he approaches, adjusting his hold on the food to balance it while he opens the door. No key, no lock - even if someone wanted to steal from them, there's not really anything to take. No worries there.

Jenya is sitting at the small kitchen table, watching the door expectantly. She breaks out into a grin when she sees Viren enter, same as she does every night, and takes a moment to get to her feet.

"It's about time!" She says with a laugh grabbing her cane from where it leans against the table and hobbling over to the fridge.

"Good to see you too, Gran," Viren says, setting the bread and cake down on the table.

Jenya reaches into the fridge and pulls out a pitcher of water and a small, wrapped plate of cheese, which she also adds to the table. Her smile widens as she sees the cake on the table. "Thank Marnie for me tomorrow, will you?"

He pulls her chair back out for her so she can sit. "Always do."

There's no meat to eat that night, only bread and cheese and a cake for the two of them to pick at together. The icing is sweet and rich and the closest Viren thinks he'll ever be to luxury, but he makes sure that his grandmother gets most of it, taking the smallest bites for himself. They keep the windows open all around the house to let in a cool summer breeze, and Jenya tells him a new story tonight. Something with a happy ending.

Once she's finished and the sun is long since set, Viren finally gets up to wash the dishes. When she speaks again, it's so uncharacteristically quiet that he barely hears.

"How many times is your name in that bowl, dear?"

"No more than necessary," he reassures her, setting their silverware down on the counter to dry.

When he turns around, she doesn't look reassured at all. Rather, she's staring at him with a sad, vacant look in her eyes, like she's looking straight through him. Like she's seeing something much, much worse. He dries his hands and walks over to kneel in front of her, placing a hand on her shoulder. She's thin, far too thin, but then - isn't everyone around here?

"I meant what I said, Gran," he says, voice soft. "I'm not taking any extra food from them. We don't need it."

Jenya reaches up to cover his hand with her own, holding it there. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to.

Viren continues. "I'm almost eighteen. Pretty soon, we won't have to worry about this anymore. Until then, we won't take anything from them. And they won't take anything from us."

* * *

**District Twelve**

_Reaping Day_

**.Maria, 12**

There's a new escort for District Twelve this year. Goldie, a nervous looking woman who reminds Maria a bit of a bird - and not just because of the long, feathery jacket she has on. She looks a bit uncomfortable on stage looking out over a sea of unhappy faces, and lacks the blind enthusiasm that defined her predecessor, Effie Trinket. First day on the job and they stick her in Twelve - no wonder she sounds so stiff, reading from index cards that everyone can plainly see in her hand.

She's a joke, just like everything else that Twelve gets. Maria tries not to feel too discouraged.

It's her first year in the bowl, and she's standing crushed between a gaggle of other nervous girls her age. Some bite their nails, some are staring straight ahead with a glassy look in their eyes, beyond fear. Some are crying already. Not Maria.

Not yet.

Pik is one of the few among them that manages to look confident, her arm looped through Maria's, keeping them tightly together. She snickers as Goldie stumbles through her speech and makes an exaggerated yawn halfway through the movie. Maria doesn't have it in her to laugh, today.

"Okay!" Goldie says. "Um. Well, that's...about all there is to say…" she's checking her cards, looking back up at the cameras with an unnaturally wide smile as she shoves them in her feathery pocket. "Yes! That's all. Which leads us to…"

She crosses the stage to stand in front of the bowls. "First! The girls…" she reaches her hand into the one on the left.

Time slows. Pik and Maria's grasps on each other tighten. Maria barely has time to cross her fingers when-

"Maria Stanton!"

The other girls turn to look at her, the same strange mixture of relief and sympathy written across all of their faces. Pik doesn't let go of her.

"No," she says, hardly able to hear her own voice over the blood pounding in her ears. She shakes her head, tears springing to her eyes, and she knows it's going to make her look weak but she doesn't _care_, she doesn't _want this_ \- "No, no please-" Her voice breaks halfway through the word as she chokes out a sob.

She doesn't move, even as a pair of Peacekeepers pushes through the crowd towards her. Pik holds on until the very last minute, letting go only as a shadow falls over her and she's left staring up into the black visor with wide, frightened eyes. Maria is still standing in place and shaking her head, not even moving as the Peacekeepers close in on her, one of them grabbing her roughly by the arm. "Please-" she repeats, "Please, no, no, please, I can't…"

Her pleas fall on deaf ears the entire walk up to the stage, the Peacekeeper stopping at the foot of the steps to keep her from turning around. Goldie extends a hand to her but she doesn't take it, letting the tears fall freely as she turns to face the crowd. She bites her lip to stop herself from begging any longer.

She finds her parents and her sister in the crowd easily, a look of pure horror on each of their faces. Her brother is harder to pick out from the group of sixteen year olds, where she eventually finds him with his face in his hands.

_This is happening. This is real._ Goldie looks uncertain what to do about her, regarding her with a look that's equal parts nervous and a little bit disgusted. Like she's an infant, shrieking and snotting all over herself.

Maybe she is.

After a moment, determined to keep the show on the road, Goldie clears her throat and steps back up to the bowls. As though eager to put an end to this as soon as possible and get Maria's tears off the screen, Goldie doesn't waste any time pulling the name for the boys.

"Viren Das!"

.

**.Viren, 17**

_It's not fair. It's not right. It's not fair. _

_It's not fair._

Viren repeats it to himself like a mantra the entire way to the stage, keeping his expression as neutral as he possibly can. It feels almost wrong for him to be pitying his own fate in this moment, having just seen the heartwrenching display by young Maria, but he can't help it._ Who's going to look after Gran?, _he thinks. _Who's going to cover for Daisy? Who's going to-_

There's no time to worry about them all. He too refuses Goldie's hand as he climbs the steps, placing his in his pocket and fixing her with a hard stare. Not harsh, not mean - but intense. Almost curious. He wonders what she gains from this. He wonders if she's getting what she wants.

Her nerves seem to have been calmed slightly by Viren's muted reaction, and she doesn't seem bothered by the look he gives her. He walks to stand on the opposite side of the stage from Maria, careful not to look over at her.

Daisy looks furious where she stands in the crowd. Not even sad. Really, when he looks around, _nobody_ looks happy - not that they usually would. But there's a special kind of displeasure that spreads through the district when someone as young as Maria is called, and Viren's name being drawn seems to have only further upset them.

Twelve has been especially unhappy with the Reapings these past few years. But nothing changes.

"Volunteers!" Goldie says like she'd nearly forgotten, clapping a bit and trying to bring the crowd's energy up. "Volunteers, yes, let's see. Do we have any from the girls? Any volunteers out there from the girls?"

Silence. You could hear a pin drop. Unhappy as they may be, nobody is rushing to Maria's rescue. Not even as she stares out into the crowd, and in a voice that carries surprisingly well for one so soft, makes one final attempt at a plea: "Please?"

Nothing. He tries not to hold it against them, even when the call for male volunteers receives the same silence. But the silence continues even as Goldie tries to drum up some applause for the pair - there's nothing, not a single cheer. There hasn't been, not since that Everdeen girl volunteered a few years ago. It's the little things, the little shows of rebellion that matter. It's become something of a joke up in the Capitol, he's heard, that Twelve doesn't clap anymore.

Maybe they won't find it so funny if the rest of Panem follows suit.

He meets Maria halfway across the stage to shake her hand. Her whole body is trembling, and she refuses to meet his eyes. For what feels like the hundredth time in the past twenty minutes alone, his heart breaks.

This little girl is going to die. No question about it. He probably will too.

_What do you know? I guess the Capitol got what they wanted from me after all._

* * *

**District Twelve**

_Goodbyes_

**.Maria, 12**

They all come piling it at once, engulfing Maria in a hug. She feels tears on her face that she doesn't think are her own, and she can't tell her brother's arm from her father's, and it's almost instantly far too hot at the center of the hug but she doesn't ever want to let go. It's a moment she wants to last forever.

It doesn't, of course. One by one her family pulls away, wiping tears and trying to pull themselves together in their own way. It's Camilo who speaks first, always the strategist, staring intently into her eyes.

"You find someone in there," he says. "Someone older than you, someone strong. An ally."

All Maria can do is shake her head. Camilo isn't having it.

"No, listen to me. You stick with them as long as you can, and you get to the end of this. Do you hear me?"

"Like Viren," her mother suggests. She keeps her voice even despite her obvious distress, trying to keep a comforting smile on her face. "You know Viren. He's a sweet kid, I'm sure he'll...he'll look out for you, if you ask him to."

"I don't know if I can," Maria finally says.

"You _have_ to," Camilo insists, and the rest of her family seems to agree. "You just...you have to come home, Maria."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, pressing it into her hands. The wooden flower he'd carved for her on her birthday, a gift. _A token,_ she realizes, and the thought just makes everything all the more real.

"I'll…"

_I'll try. I'll do my best. I'll find an ally. I'll be back. I'll win this._

_I'll come home._

She can't say any of it. She can't make herself. A fresh wave of tears threatens to come forward, and all at once her family comes forward to hug her again.

.

**.Viren, 17**

Jenya isn't crying when she comes in. She's not happy, but she seems oddly peaceful. Her arms open to him just as the door shuts, and Viren wraps his arms around her. It frightens him how small she is, how frail. _What is she going to do? _Being well-liked by people will only get her so far, she can't survive off gifts alone.

It brings him comfort just to feel her hug back, but he knows he can't stay there forever. He pulls himself out of the hug and guides her over to the couch, where they both take a seat.

"I'm sorry," he says, the first thing that comes to his mind. "I didn't - I promise, I really didn't take anything extra, I just…"

"We all hit a spot of bad luck sometimes," Jenya replies.

Impulsively, Viren laughs, but there's no humor to it. "This is a bit more than bad luck, Gran."

"You'll survive this," she promises. "You've made it through so much already, and you'll survive this too. And you'll win me one of those grand houses in Victor's Village, yes?"

His laugh is slightly more genuine this time, and he nods. "I'll...I'll do my best."

"I know you will. You always do."

With that, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a necklace, a thin silver chain with a slightly rusted looking flower charm attached.

"Daisy asked me to give this to you," she says, placing it in Viren's hand. "She got a bit too testy with the Peacekeepers, they wouldn't let her in. But she wanted you to have this."

He recognizes it instantly. She wears it every day.

"She asked me to pass on a message, too," Jenya continues. "Coincidentally, I was planning on telling you the same thing."

"What's that?"

"Even if you don't think you can win…" There's a familiar gleam in Jenya's eyes as she smiles. "Give them hell."

* * *

**Well, this got pretty long. I think that means I'm getting the hang of it? I think this'll be the length I try to match from this point forward, but...we'll see. I guess expect anywhere between 3k-4k words. Really, it depends on the detail of the forms - the more you give me, the more I can include in the introductions! These characters happened to have plenty I could use for introductions - Viren, from UselessFreakingPaperclip, and Maria, from zoewinter1!**

**Speaking of forms! Three spots left, with a few more potentially opening up depending on what happens with the current spots reserved. Currently, open slots are D6M, D8F, and D11M! If you're going to reserve something, please try to have it in within a week, and keep an eye on my profile to see what changes.**

**Up next is District 10! Might take a little longer than usual, but I'll do my best to get it out in a reasonable amount of time. Thanks for reading, everyone! Make sure to leave a review, especially if one of these characters are yours. I'd like to hear that I'm doing them justice. **


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